


Leather Wings and Scaly Things

by FoxPatronus (lyriumlovesong)



Series: Leather Wings and Scaly Things [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Brews and Stews, Canonical Character Death, Death, Demisexual Charlie Weasley, Diagon Alley, Dragons, F/M, First Dates, Goodbyes, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Express, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Leaky Cauldron, Magizoology, Norberta the Dragon - Freeform, Original Character(s), Platform 9 3/4, Pygmy Puffs, References to Depression, Snogging, Social Anxiety, Thestrals, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-05 09:46:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14615643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumlovesong/pseuds/FoxPatronus
Summary: Charlie Weasley had pretty much resigned himself to solitude. He was content with his life, fulfilled by his work, and not particularly interested in seeking out a mate.Besides, where was he going to find someone else who shared his passion for magical creatures and would want to talk about dragons for hours on end?Right in the middle of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, as it turned out.





	1. Thursday Morning

The merry tinkle of a bell rang through the empty shop.

Charlie Weasley, leaning against the counter inside Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, looked up from his copy of _Seeker Weekly_.  
  
_“Thursdays are always quiet, and we’ve only just opened,”_ George had assured him. _“Just watch the counter for a minute while I take this delivery. Nobody will come in before I get back, tr_ ust me.”  
  
Shows what he knew.  
  
Standing in the doorway, backlit in the morning light, was a petite little witch in dark grey robes. She looked around. Immediately, she seemed overwhelmed by the sheer volume of visual and auditory input inside the shop. Her entrance had set off loud, cheerful music and several charms, animating a unicycling marionette in a pink skirt suit which ran on a line across the ceiling shouting into the nearly-empty shop, and sending sparkling fireworks shooting around the shop. She jumped as one zoomed past her, so close that it whiffed her dark, wavy hair as it whizzed by.

Charlie straightened and pulled out his wand, giving it a swish.

_“Finite incantatem!”_

The marionette stopped cycling and shouting, suspended in the air halfway across the room, and the fireworks immediately fizzled out.

“Sorry about that,” Charlie said, giving an apologetic smile. “My brother loves to make an impression.”  
  
The witch smiled back.

“That’s quite alright,” she said. “I just wasn’t expecting that kind of a welcome. Maybe I _should_ have, given the reputation of this place.”  
  
She was American, judging by her accent. Or possibly Canadian. He always had trouble telling the difference. Either way, he thought to himself, she was very pretty _._ Maybe not in the conventional sense, but pretty nonetheless. She was short, even compared to him, and quite curvy. She continued looking around, moving one hand to an ample hip.  
  
“Do you work here?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. “My brother George, he owns the place. He’s out back taking a delivery and I said I’d watch the counter while he did. My name's Charlie. Help you find anything in particular?”

“Well, Charlie,” she said, turning back to face him. “That’s sort of the trouble… I’m not sure what I’m looking for. My nephew is turning ten next week and I’d like to send him something. Preferably something that will annoy the _hell_ out of my sister.”

She gave him a mischievous grin, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well, we’ve certainly got that covered. Let me show you some options.”  
  
He came around the side of the counter and gestured toward a nearby wall.

“These are our collection of Weasley’s Wildfire Whizbangs, one of my brothers’ own inventions. They’re virtually unstoppable. Explode when you stun them and multiply if you try to vanish them. No heat, so they’re not going to light your sister’s house on fire, but they’ll sure give her fits trying to get rid of them. A simple cancellation spell stops them, but it usually takes folks a few tries to figure that out.”  
  
“Is that what nearly took my head off when I walked in?” she asked, her eyes lighting up.  
  
“Yep. But they’re designed never to actually hit a person, so no worries there.”

“Perfect.”  
  
“And you’ll get a discount if you buy them in a package,” came another voice from behind them. George Weasley, clad head to toe in purple robes emblazoned with a large, golden “W,” had just walked in from the back of the shop. He smiled at the witch and gestured toward a shelf of boxed fireworks. “Five galleons for the Basic Blaze Box and twenty galleons for the Deflagration Deluxe.”

“I think I’ll take the Basic Blaze,” she said, nodding. “That should be enough to drive my sister up the wall for a day.”  
  
George chuckled.

“Always happy to see our visions fully realized,” he said.

“Was there, er, anything else you wanted to look at?” Charlie asked. George looked sideways at his older brother, who was gazing at the witch, hands nervously shoved into his pockets. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Charlie eye a woman that way.

Come to think of it, he didn’t think he’d ever seen his brother eye a woman.

“Seems like you’ve got this pretty well in hand,” George said, thumping him on the back. “I’m going to go inventory this delivery real quick. Give a shout if you need me.”

He retreated to the back room of the shop, leaving the pair alone once again.

“What are those?” the witch asked, pointing to an enclosure full of moving pink and purple balls of fur.

“Ah, those are Pygmy Puffs! One of my favorite things in the shop. Let me show you.”

He walked over with her and gingerly picked up a purple puff, which poked its curious little white face out from behind a wall of fluff and peered at them through tiny ink-black eyes.

“Oh!” the witch exclaimed, putting a hand to her mouth. “It’s a teeny puffskein! What an adorable little creature!”

“Would you like to hold her?” asked Charlie, smiling at the little creature, who was now sniffing his thumb.  
  
“Yes, please,” the witch replied. The puffskein willingly hopped into her outstretched hands and gave a contented little hum as it nuzzled her skin.

“She likes you.”

The witch looked up at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. Were they green? Or hazel? It was hard to tell in the light of the shop.

“Well, now you've done it. I think I’ll have to take her home with me, as well,” she said, stroking the puffskein.

“She’ll need a name,” Charlie said. “Usually we fill out a certificate, and there’s a ceremony and it’s a whole big thing. But that’s mostly for the kids. But we can still do a certificate if you like…?”  
  
“I’d like that, yes. Are we sure it’s a girl?” She lifted the puff’s back end and parted the fur. “Ope! Yep, _definitely_ a girl! She doesn’t have the scent glands.”

Charlie cocked his head to the side, his mouth curving up at one corner.

“You know your creatures,” he said appreciatively.  
  
“I should hope so,” she replied with a smile. “I’m a magizoologist.”  
  
“Really?”

“Yep.” She nodded as they headed to the counter, Charlie carrying her box of firecrackers while she cradled her new pet. “I’m in the UK to study Thestrals. I’m going to be at Hogwarts for a semester to work with their Care of Magical Creatures professor, Rubeus Hagrid. Have you heard of him?”

Charlie chuckled.

“Oh, yes. Hagrid was gamekeeper there when I was in school. Wonderful man, you’ll love him. And the herd of Thestrals at Hogwarts is very gentle, they’ll be marvelous for study purposes. What are you researching?”

“A new theory about their evolution,” she said, setting the tiny purple ball of fluff on the counter while she dug in a little brocade purse. “That they may share an ancestor with dragons.”  
  
Charlie stopped dead in his tracks.

 _“Really?”_ he said again, his eyebrows raised. “That’s a _fascinating_ theory!”  
  
“Is it?” the witch asked, laughing. “Most people just sort of stare blankly at me when I start talking about my research.”  
  
“Well, I’m not most people,” said Charlie. “I _study_ dragons.”  
  
_“Really?”_  
  
They both laughed.

“I do! In Romania. I’m here for a couple weeks to visit my family, and it’s my brother’s daughter’s first year at Hogwarts, so we’re all going to see her off together.”  
  
“Oh, how nice. I was so nervous my first year, I bet that will help her feel better.”  
  
“Ilvermorney?” asked Charlie, moving his magazine to the side so he could set down her fireworks. She smiled.  
  
“Everyone has asked that,” she said. “It’s the accent. But no. Castelobruxo.”  
  
“Oh?” he asked, his expression one of mild surprise. “How’d you end up there?”  
  
“My father works for MACUSA as an ambassador. He works at the embassy in Brazil, so that’s where I grew up. Castelobruxo fostered my love for magical creatures. I couldn’t have asked for a better school.”  
  
“Is it true that it’s in the jungle? And the dorms are in treehouses?”

The witch nodded, watching him pack her fireworks into a striped purple shopping bag with a large W in gold foil printed on the front.

“Yep, all true.”  
  
“Wow,” said Charlie, punching numbers into the cash register. “I would love to hear more about it. And your research.”  
  
“Well, we should get a drink sometime. I’m staying at the Leaky Cauldron.”  
  
Charlie could feel his face reddening a little as he gave a little nod. Could she tell in this light? Merlin's beard, he hoped not.  
  
“Alright," he managed to reply. "Yes. Yes, I’d like that. I’m expected for dinner tonight with my family, but I could meet you there tomorrow. Maybe around dinner time? Six or so?”  
  
“Perfect,” said the witch. “It’s a date.”  
  
He looked up at her, somewhat surprised. A _date_. She’d actually said the word. How long had it been since he’d been on one of _those?_

“What do I owe you?” she asked, smiling and holding up her coin pouch. He looked back at the cash register and punched a few more numbers in. The register dinged and a drawer shot out of the bottom.  
  
“Uh… five galleons for the firecrackers and three galleons, nine sickles for the puff. So eight galleons, nine sickles.”  
  
She counted out coins and handed them across the counter. Charlie accepted them, separating them into the drawer.

“Have you thought about a name for your new friend?” he asked, pulling a slip of parchment from a shelf behind the counter.

“Chloe,” she said, picking up the pygmy puff and setting it on her shoulder. It burrowed into her hair.

"That's a good name," he replied, giving her a smile. He filled out the certificate, writing CHLOE in large capital letters.  
  
“Hope I spelled it right. Sorry my handwriting isn’t the best,” he told her, passing her the parchment.  
  
“It's perfect,” she said kindly, tucking it into the shopping bag with her firecrackers. Lifting the shopping bag off the counter, she looked up at him, full lips parted in a warm smile. “So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at six, then?”  
  
“Yep,” said Charlie, nodding and returning the smile. “Tomorrow at six at the Leaky Cauldron. I’ll meet you at the bar?”  
  
“Sounds great!” she replied, turning to leave. “Enjoy the rest of your day!”  
  
The bell tinkled again as she left, robes swishing around her feet as she closed the door behind her, gave a little wave, and walked on down Diagon Alley.

George appeared from the back, rather quickly for someone who had supposedly been deeply involved in inventorying merchandise.  
  
“Well,” he said, a bit too jovially. “She was certainly pretty.”  
  
Charlie could feel his cheeks reddening once more and buried his face in the magazine again.  
  
“She was,” he said, in what he hoped was a casual tone.  
  
“What was her name?”  
  
He set the magazine down, staring at George.  
  
“What?” George asked, looking at his brother's expression of shock.  
  
“Blimey, mate, I’m an idiot,” Charlie answered, shaking his head.

“What?” George asked again.

“Her name. I never asked. I’ve _no idea.”_


	2. George Spills the Beans

“How was your trip to Diagon Alley this morning, dear?”  
  
Molly Weasley was bustling about the tiny kitchen at the Burrow, throwing a bit of this and a bit of that into the simmering pan on the stove and waving her wand at a large butcher’s knife that was busily chopping an onion all by itself.  
  
“Oh, fine,” replied Charlie, who was stationed at a sideboard, wiping dishes dry and stacking them neatly for dinner. “I met Penny Haywood for lunch, and we had a nice catching-up.”  
  
“Oh, Penny! Your father always speaks highly of her,” his mother told him, giving him a look. “Says she’s doing good work in the Potions Association. Do you think you’ll be seeing her again, or…?”  
  
“Maybe next time I’m in town, if she’s not terribly busy.”  
  
“I’m sure she’ll _make_ time if you ask her,” Molly said, smiling at him. “I always suspected she nursed a bit of a crush on you.”  
  
“Somehow I doubt that,” said Charlie, snorting.  
  
“What makes you say that?”

She was frowning now, hands on her hips.

“She likes _girls_ , Mum.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Mrs. Weasley looked like she had been slightly deflated.  
  
“Well, that’s fine of course,” she said quickly, turning back to the pan to give it a stir. “I just thought, when you said you’d had lunch together—”  
  
“Don’t feel _too_ disappointed,” came a cheerful voice from the next room. George walked in, smiling from ear to ear--or, in his case, the place where an ear had once been. “Hi, Mum.”  
  
“And why’s that?” Molly asked, turning around and accepting a kiss on the cheek from him.  
  
“Because Charlie has a _date_ tomorrow.”  
  
Charlie rolled his eyes.  
  
“Here we go,” he said, turning away from his younger brother and grabbing another plate to dry.  
  
_“What?”_ Molly asked, looking from George to Charlie’s back. “A date? Weren’t you even going to _tell_ me? Who is she? Where did you meet her?”

George’s wife, Angelina, appeared at the doorway.  
  
“Honestly, George, can’t you lay off your poor brother?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe.  
  
_“No,”_ said George, pointedly. “Where are the kids?”  
  
“I told them they could play in the garden until dinner,” Angelina answered. “Molly, can I help with anything?”  
  
“No, dear, you just make yourself at home. George, if you stick your finger in that frosting, I’ll box your ears, I don’t care if you’re thirty-one years old.”  
  
George was hovering over a large, freshly-iced chocolate cake that was sitting on a countertop. He looked up innocently and tucked his hands behind his back.  
  
“Now,” Molly said, rounding back on Charlie again. “What’s this about a date?”  
  
As soon as her back was turned, George slid a finger along the bottom of the cake and popped a blob of frosting into his mouth.  
  
“Yeah, Charlie,” he said. “Tell us _everything.”_  
  
“I met her at Fred and George’s shop,” he said, shrugging. “She was nice and we hit it off. We had some things in common. So she asked if I wanted to have a drink sometime, and I… said yes.”  
  
“And?” asked Molly.  
  
“And _what?”_ asked Charlie. “That’s literally the whole story.”  
  
“What does she look like?”  
  
“Erm. Well, shorter than me. Kind of… roundish in places?”

George nodded enthusiastically and made an exaggerated hourglass shape in the air with his hands. Angelina threw a potholder at him. Charlie ignored him.

“She has dark hair. She’s… I dunno. She’s pretty.”

“And what does she do?”  
  
“She studies Thestrals. She’ll be at Hogwarts this fall to study their herd. Going to work with Hagrid, I guess.”  
  
“Ahhhh,” said Molly, understanding dawning on her face. “You _do_ have something in common, then.”

“Mmmhmm,” Charlie answered, setting the plate on the dry stack and picking up another.

“What’s her name?”  
  
“Yeah, Charlie, tell Mum what her name is,” George said, smirking.

“Don’t be such an arsehole, George,” Angelina snapped, glaring at him. She shot Charlie a sympathetic sort of look.  
  
Charlie mumbled something inaudible.

“What, dear?” asked Mrs. Weasley, as George’s shoulders shook with laughter.

“I don’t know her name.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“She never said, and I… didn’t think to ask.”  
  
“Well why on earth not?” Molly asked, looking confused.  
  
“Because I’m an _idiot,_ Mum, okay?” Charlie said, voice rising as he tossed the plate onto the stack with a clatter. “Because I spend all my life hanging around dragons and other weirdos like me, and I have _no_ idea how to behave in normal society anymore, and I just get nervous and forget basic shit and always manage to make an absolute _ass_ of myself in front of people I fancy, and it’s probably why I haven’t been on a proper date in ten years. Happy?”  
  
George was no longer laughing.

“Charlie,” he said, walking over to his brother and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Mate, it wasn’t _that_ bad. I heard the whole conversation on the Extendables.”  
  
Charlie glared at him.  
  
“Which, in hindsight, was inappropriate and a betrayal of your trust,” George corrected quickly. “But really, you didn’t sound like an ass. You just, you know… forgot to ask something kind of important. But she seemed to fancy you. I mean, _she_ was the one who asked _you_ out, so she must be interested, right?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess,” Charlie conceded, shrugging. “I dunno, I’m just… I’m so anxious about screwing it up.”  
  
A loud whirring noise issued from the living room.  
  
“Angelina, check the clock, will you dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked. Angelina leaned into the adjacent room.  
  
“It says Arthur is traveling.”  
  
“He’ll be coming home from work, then,” Molly replied, nodding. “Right then, George, Angelina, be dears and set the table for dinner before the rest arrive, will you?”  
  
They each walked over to the sideboard where Charlie had been working and took stacks of plates, bowls, and cutlery in their arms, George enchanting the glassware to follow them with a wave of his wand.  
  
Molly approached her elder son and wrapped her hands around his wrists.  
  
“Don’t be nervous, Charles,” she said, smiling gently. “Just be yourself. You’ll have lots to talk about, so just try to let the conversation come naturally and enjoy yourselves. I’m sure she’ll like you just fine, and you’ll have a good time.”  
  
“I hope so,” replied Charlie, looking less than convinced.  
  
“I’d bet on it. But _do_ make sure you find out her name, love.”


	3. Brews and Stews

The Leaky Cauldron felt drafty and dim. Charlie gave himself a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the low light before scanning the room. She wasn’t at the bar yet. He glanced at his watch. 

_Two minutes to six._

“What can I get you?” Tom, the hunchbacked old barman, called across the room.

“Nothing just yet, thanks,” he said politely. “I’m waiting for someone.”  
  
“Suit yourself.”  
  
He took a seat on a bar stool next to an older wizard with a lined face who was nursing a glass of what smelled like Firewhisky. He looked up when Charlie sat and gave him a nod and a quiet grunt, presumably by way of a greeting.

“Evening,” replied Charlie, returning the nod.

He drummed his fingers nervously on the rough wood of the bartop, eyeing the watermarks from years of wet glasses and sticky steins being set upon it. He looked at his watch again.

_One minute to six._

Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention, and he turned toward the staircase to see the witch from the shop descending the steps, a small smile on her lips and one hand on the railing as the other waved at him.

She was wearing green today, the color of olives, and had chosen a rather dressy set of robes that were cut to hug her shape. Her hair was pinned up, but one wavy tendril had escaped at her temple. Or maybe she’d styled it that way.

He ran a hand through his own shaggy, red hair, suddenly feeling unkempt. When was his last haircut? Maybe he’d have Molly clean it up tomorrow.  
  
“Hi,” she said brightly as he hopped down from his stool.

“Hi,” he replied, sticking out his hand. She looked at it, then back up at him.

“Oh. Are we on a shaking-hands sort of level?” she asked. He quickly pulled it back and shoved it into his pocket, feeling the hot flush creep up his face again.  
  
“No, sorry. I don’t know what I was doing. …Sorry.”

 _Idiot._  
  
She gave him a kind smile.  
  
“That’s alright. Are you hungry? I’m starving.”  
  
“Yes. Definitely,” he said eagerly, grateful for something to talk about to take the attention away from his blunder.  
  
“My options here are sort of limited,” she said, glancing at the menu board. “I don’t eat meat.”  
  
“Oh,” said Charlie, “that’s actually quite handy. Neither do I.”  
  
“Really?” she asked.  
  
“Yeah, it’s sort of a recent thing. Been a vegetarian for about a year now. Seems hypocritical to spend so much of my life trying to save one kind of animal and then turn around and eat another.”  
  
“I know exactly what you mean.”  
  
“That’ll make meals easy, though.”  
  
_Meals? Plural?_ God, now he sounded presumptive _and_ over-eager. What an absolute tosser she must think he was.  
  
“I expect so,” she answered, still smiling that warm smile. “There’s a pea soup special on tonight, looks like.”  
  
“Er…” Charlie lowered his voice. “I wouldn’t.”  
  
“Oh?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.  
  
“Yeah, just… trust me on that one.”  
  
“Alright, then. Well, you know London better than me. Where do two vegetarians go to eat in Diagon Alley?”  
  
“There’s a place down the street called Brews and Stews. It’s a lot of fish on the menu, but they have a sixteen-bean stew that’s to die for. And they brew their own beers.”  
  
“That sounds delicious,” she said.

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Good. Shall we, then?”

He gestured toward the door that led out back, and he followed her out the door. She tapped the wall with her wand and turned to him as the bricks shifted into place, revealing the entrance to Diagon Alley.  
  
“It’s so nice out this evening,” she said, looking up at him with her wide, expressive eyes.  
  
_Hazel. They’re hazel._  
  
“It is,” he agreed, following her through the archway that had formed in the wall. They strolled together, weaving through the milling throng of witches and wizards out for their Friday night dinner or shopping.  
  
“You… you look nice tonight,” he told her, stammering a bit. “Very nice.”  
  
“Oh,” she said, a tinge of pink appearing on her round cheeks. “Thank you. These are the only nice robes I brought along. I was worried they might be too much. Sorry if I made you feel underdressed.”  
  
“No, not at all,” he said. “Well… actually, that’s a lie. But I bet you could wear a potato sack and still look better dressed than me.”

She outright giggled at this.  
  
“Oh, stop.” Then she seemed to suddenly remember something. “Oh, I almost forgot. You must think I’m _such_ a dingbat, I never introduced myself back at your brother’s shop! I didn't realize it until I was halfway down the street.”

_Shit._ He’d forgotten all about it again.

“Well, I could have _asked_ ,” he said, turning toward her, “I feel like an ass about that.”  
  
“Oh, no. It’s fine! I guess we both just got so carried away talking about work that we didn’t think about it. Anyway, my name is Margaret. But most folks call me Maggie. Maggie Skyler.”

“Maggie,” he said, testing out the name. He tossed it around in his head. _Margaret Skyler. Maggie. Mags_. She nodded. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Maggie.”

He stuck out his hand again, and this time she laughed and took it right away, giving it a shake with a firm grip. Her skin was soft. He wondered if she noticed all the calluses covering his, feeling self-conscious yet again. If she did, she didn’t pull away any faster for it. In fact, she seemed to let the handshake linger a beat longer than normal.  
  
They had reached the end of the block now, and Charlie pulled his hand away gently to place it on her shoulder, gesturing to the left.  
  
“This way,” he said. “It’s right after this turn.”  
  
A cheery-looking red sign with yellow lettering announced the restaurant a couple of doors away as they rounded the corner.

 

_ Brews and Stews _

_ Fishy Dinners _

_ Established Upward of 400 Years_

 

  
“Here we are.”  
  
The dining area here was much more brightly lit than the Leaky Cauldron, and they found themselves a cozy two-seater table next to a window. A little glass vase on their table held a single daffodil.

Charlie pulled out a chair for Maggie, and she sat down with a smile and a nod of thanks. He caught a whiff of something sweet-smelling as she moved.

“I like your perfume,” he told her, taking the seat opposite. “Is that weird to say?”  
  
“I don’t think so,” she said, adjusting her robes and scooting her chair in a bit further. She gave a little shrug. “I mean, I didn’t put it on _just_ for me. You wear perfume so you smell good to everybody, right? I hope it’s not too much. I spend so much time mucking about in paddocks, I like to smell like something other than Thestral dung and straw when I go out, and I’m afraid I’ve been accused of overdoing it before.”  
  
“Oh, no,” he reassured her, picking up his menu. “No, it wasn’t overpowering. I just… noticed it. That’s all.”  
  
She nodded.  
  
“Okay. Good.”  
  
A young witch in red robes and an apron approached the table.  
  
“H'llo there!” she said in a cheerful Cockney accent. “Welcome to Brews n’ Stews. Take yer drink orders?”  
  
Charlie looked at the back of his menu.  
  
“Hmmm… I think I’ll try the Ptolemy Porter tonight, please.”  
  
“O’course! An’ for you, ma’am?”  
  
Maggie was going over the options as well, tracing a finger down the menu as she read.  
  
“Can you tell me about the seasonal ale? The Moondew Brew?” she asked, looking up.  
  
“Certainly! It's a light, crisp ale brewed with ginger an’ orange an’ just a hint o’ Moondew flower.”  
  
“That sounds lovely,” Maggie said, looking up. “I’ll have that, please.”  
  
“I’ll get those right out t’you. When yer ready to order yer food, jus’ tell yer plate what you’d like!”  
  
She bustled off toward the bar.

Charlie was looking over the menu again, scanning the food options.

“Looks like there’s the sixteen-bean stew, some salads, and a grilled goat cheese sandwich with tomato soup.”  
  
“Well,” Maggie said, "since it comes so _highly_ recommended, I think I’m going to have to stick with the stew.”  
  
“Yeah,” said Charlie, nodding decisively and putting down his menu. “Me too.”  
  
He turned to his bowl and said “Sixteen-bean stew” in a clear, confident tone. His bowl immediately filled with a fragrant, hearty stew full of a variety of differently colored and shaped beans. Steam rose in tendrils to meet his nose, and he breathed in the savory scent.  
  
“Sixteen-bean stew, please,” Maggie told her own bowl. “And extra bread.”  
  
She looked up at Charlie with a grin.  
  
“I hope that’s okay.”  
  
He smiled back.  
  
“You order whatever you want, Maggie.”  
  
He liked saying her name.

“I don’t understand how people can go on those no-bread diets,” she said, grabbing one of the rolls that had appeared in a basket on the table. “I would _die_. I _love_ bread. If you need proof, check out my butt sometime.”

The corner of Charlie’s lip twitched as he tried to stifle a smirk.  
  
“Well,” he said, hesitating a little. “…I quite like your butt.”

Maggie coughed around the piece of bread in her mouth and laughed.  
  
“So you’ve _already_ checked it out!” she accused once she’d swallowed her mouthful. Charlie shrugged in a non-committal kind of way. “Thank you. I like my butt, too.”

He laughed at this, nodding.

“Good. That’s good to hear.”  
  
Their server appeared then, a glass of beer in each hand.

“Ptolemy Porter fer you,” she said, setting down Charlie’s beer, “an’ a Moondew Ale fer you, ma’am.”  
  
“Thank you very much,” said Maggie, reaching for hers.  
  
“Can I get you anythin’ else?”  
  
“I think I’m okay for now,” said Charlie, looking at his plate and then back up at Maggie. “You okay?”  
  
Maggie nodded over the rim of her glass and gave a thumbs-up.  
  
“Well, flag me down if you decide you need anythin’!”

She turned, heading off to another table to take more drink orders.

“So,” Maggie said, setting her glass down. “You have to tell me more about your research. I mean, _dragons!_ That must be intense.”

“It can be, yeah,” said Charlie, stirring his stew to cool it down. “The organization I work for is called WONDR: the World Organization for Non-detrimental Dragon Research. Our headquarters is in the Hoia Baciu forest in Romania. It’s really just a glorified camp, honestly. A cluster of tents and a large clearing a little ways away where we can restrain a dragon if needed. We see more Romanian Longhorns than anything else, obviously, but we also humanely capture and study dragons of all breeds at the reserve.”

“Have you ever worked with an Opaleye?” she asked. “They’re my _favorite_. I’ve never seen one in real life, of course.”

“Just once,” he replied, scooping up a spoonful. “We had one brought in from New Zealand for research. He was beautiful, none of the paintings or photographs do them justice.”

“You must get hurt a lot,” she said, gesturing to his forearms, which were covered in burns and scars.

“I suppose so, more than the average profession,” he answered with a shrug. “But most of these were pretty superficial. You just get used to it after awhile.”

They each chewed a few bites of stew and bread in silence, listening to the noise of the busy cafe as other diners chatted animatedly and the clatter of dishes in the kitchen issued from the back of the building.

“What about you?” Charlie asked after a moment, realizing with annoyance at himself that he hadn’t asked a single question about her since they’d been seated. “How did you get into Thestral research?”

Maggie finished her bite and wiped her mouth with her napkin.

“Well,” she said, “I’ve always been interested in the different breeds of winged horses. I have an aunt who breeds Granians for racing, so I grew up having lots of experience with them. But I didn’t really learn much about Thestrals until school, and they’re just so mysterious and fascinating. I was immediately intrigued.”

“So you can… _see_ them, then?”

He immediately regretted asking. She must hear that question all the time. And it was a bit indelicate, really. What if it was painful to think about?

“I can,” she answered in a straightforward tone. She must indeed have been asked before, because she answered the unspoken follow-up question automatically. “My grandmother took ill when I was young, and she came to live with us. I used to spend hours in her room, reading to her. She’d let me pick whatever book I wanted, I think she just wanted something to distract her from how sick she felt. So it was usually _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , because it was my favorite and I couldn't get enough of it. I was reading to her about hinkypunks and I felt her squeeze my hand. And I looked down at her, and she just smiled at me and… slipped away.”  
  
“Gosh,” said Charlie. “That must have been really hard.”

“It was and it wasn’t. She was _so_ ill. I think it must have been a relief to let go and move on to wherever it is people go. But I still miss her.”

There was a pause.

“Can _you_ see them?”

“I can now,” Charlie answered, looking down at his bowl. “Since the war.”  
  
“Were you there, at the big battle at Hogwarts?”

Charlie nodded.

“I came late to the fight. We came as soon as we heard what was going on, but still… we were too late to save a lot of people. We lost my younger brother, Fred, that day. George’s twin. He was already gone when I got there.”  
  
He felt warm fingers touch the back of his hand.  
  
“I’m so sorry. What a terrible sacrifice for your family to make.”

“George took it the hardest. He went into a very dark depression afterward. Now he pours himself into his shop and overcompensates with jokes and tries to pretend everything is fine. But we know he’s not okay. Not really. None of us are.”

He cleared his throat.

“Anyway, we don’t need to dwell on sad things. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

Maggie drew her hand back and gave him a sympathetic look.

“That’s alright,” she told him. “I’m sorry it happened. So, _so_ sorry. But I’m glad you told me. I hope to hear more about him sometime, if you’d like to tell me.”

“Another time, yeah,” Charlie said, giving her a small smile. “Why don’t you tell me more about this theory you’re working on instead?”

They spent the next hour talking excitedly about Maggie’s research on Thestral evolution, and the work she would be doing with Hagrid over the next semester.

“You’ll have to keep me posted on how things are going, tell me all about what’s happening at Hogwarts. I haven’t been back since… well. It’s been a _long_ time. I’d love to know how all my old professors are doing, and what the school is like now.”  
  
“I’ll definitely keep in touch. When do you head back to Romania?”

“Day after term starts,” he replied. He drained the last of his porter and set the stein down, a trail of tiny brown bubbles slowly sliding down the glass inside.

“Maybe I’ll see you at the train station before I leave,” she said as she pulled her napkin from her lap and set it on the table. Both of their bowls were clean, and only a few crumbs lingered in the bread basket.  
  
“Well,” said Charlie, feeling his heart start to beat harder, so strong he could feel his pulse in his jaw. “I was actually hoping maybe we could see each other again before then? Maybe after the weekend?”  
  
“Oh,” said Maggie, her eyes lighting up. “Yes, definitely! I’d love that. There’s a delightful little ice cream parlor near the Leaky Cauldron I’ve been dying to try.”

“Fortescue’s?” asked Charlie, nodding. “Yeah, that place is great. I’m glad they reopened after Fortescue died. Supposedly the best fudge-fly sundae in London. ”

She laughed.

“I might just stick with butter pecan.”  
  
“Suit yourself,” Charlie said, smiling and giving her a shrug.  
  
They paid the tab, Maggie trying to insist on splitting and Charlie refusing to let her.  
  
“You can pay the tip, if it’ll make you feel better,” he finally conceded, and she sighed and counted out a handful of coins to leave on the table.  
  
They walked out onto the street, which was lit now by moonlight and a few burning oil lamps that lined the cobblestone pathway.

_Do I take her hand?_ he wondered to himself as they strolled. He wanted to, but the idea of reaching out to try made his palms sweat, and who wanted to hold a damp hand? He shoved them into his pockets again instead.

They reached the wall behind the Leaky Cauldron too quickly, much faster than it had seemed to take them to get to the cafe for dinner, he thought. 

Maggie turned to him at the door.

“I had a really nice time tonight,” she told him, looking up at him and giving him that warm smile that made him feel like he’d eaten a fistful of Fizzing Whizbees.

“So did I,” he said, smiling back. “So, um… what’s protocol here? Do we shake hands again, or are we at least to like a hugging sort of level, or—”

She was up on tiptoe before he realized what was happening, and she pressed a kiss against his cheek, which immediately felt hot and tingly.  
  
He looked down at her, eyebrows raised.  
  
“…Oh.”  
  
“Goodnight, Charlie Weasley,” she said, turning to head inside.

“Goodnight, Maggie,” he said to her retreating back. She gave him a coy little grin as she turned to close the door behind her.  
  
Charlie looked up at the moon, which was full and yellow behind an apron of fluffy clouds that glowed around the edges. He put his hand up to his cheek, to the place where her lips had just been, and he turned to walk back down the street alone, grinning to himself.


	4. Field Notes

“Criminy, if I’d known it was going to look like _this_ today, I wouldn’t have suggested ice cream.”

Maggie was standing inside the dining area at the Leaky Cauldron waiting when Charlie arrived this time. She was wrapped in a thick navy blue sweater with her arms crossed over her chest, hugging herself. Rain pounded against the windowpanes, and the inside of the little tavern felt even draftier than normal.

Charlie shook some of the water out of his hair. He’d apparated onto the back stoop of the pub, but the few seconds he’d been outside had been long enough to wet him head to toe.

“That’s London in the summer for you,” he said, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “Sunny one day, pouring the next.”  
  
“You poor thing, you’re soaked,” she said. She took her wand from her back pocket and waved it in a complicated pattern. His clothes and hair instantly felt warm and dry.

“Oh, thanks,” he told her, looking down at his plaid flannel sleeves. “Never quite got the hang of that charm.”

She tucked her wand back into her jeans and sat down in a nearby chair with a flump.

“This certainly puts a damper on our plans,” she said. Charlie huffed a little laugh, and she managed a weak smile. “Pun _not_ intended.”

“I almost sent you an owl to see if you wanted to reschedule,” he told her, taking a seat himself.

_But that would have meant not getting to see her today,_ he thought to himself, _and in four days I’ll be on my way halfway across the world again_.

“Well, I’m glad you decided to come anyway,” she said. “I’m sure we can come up with a Plan B.”

“We could go get a coffee instead?” he suggested, leaning back in his chair a bit.

“Even apparating onto doorsteps is apparently enough to get you drenched, though,” she said, looking at the deluge outside. “I’ve never seen so much water come down at once.”

“You grew up in a _rainforest_ ,” answered Charlie, looking incredulous.

“I know!”

They both laughed.

“Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” she admitted, “but it _is_ looking rather biblical out there right now.”

There was a brief pause as they both considered their options.

“We could just stay here,” she suggested. “The tea is always bitter, but the coffee’s not terrible. Or we could go for something stronger.”

“It’s a bit chilly in here, though,” he said, noticing that she still had her arms wrapped around herself. “You look like you’re freezing.”

“Well…” She pursed her lips. “My room is plenty warm. There’s a fire blazing in it all day. I have a little table and a couple of armchairs in the corner. We could sit and have a drink, and I could actually show you what I’ve been working on with my research, instead of just trying to describe it.”

“Oh. Um…”  He trailed off, considering. 

_ Why does this feel so awkard? She's just inviting you up for a drink. Nothing untoward is going to happen. And even if it did… you're both adults. And besides, who gets to decide what's “untoward” and what isn’t, anyhow? _

“If you don’t feel comfortable,” Maggie was saying, jarring him out of his thoughts, “that’s fine, of course.”

“No, it’s okay. Let’s… let’s do that. I’d like to see your work.”

The two of them ordered drinks from Tom, asking that they be sent up to Maggie’s room. He agreed amiably, giving Charlie a knowing smile and an obvious wink. Maggie rolled her eyes.

“Oh, Merlin's _sake_ ,” she huffed. She turned and headed for the stairs, and Charlie followed, looking anywhere but her round, denim-clad backside as she climbed the steps ahead of him.

Maggie’s room was at the back of a long hallway covered in worn carpet of a deep forest green. She unlocked her door and opened it to reveal a cozy little space, complete with a four-poster bed and a little seating area near the fire.

“Have a seat, make yourself at home,” she told him, gesturing at the armchairs. She kicked her shoes off and set them near the door. “Hope you don’t mind, I hate wearing shoes inside.”

“It’s your room,” he replied with a shrug, looking down at his old, worn work boots crusted with dried mud and who knew what else. The alternative was his nicest pair of socks, which was still very much worse for wear and had been darned at least half a dozen times. 

_Better keep the boots on,_ he thought to himself as he sat in one of the chairs and looked around.

The room was, overall, decently tidy, but it definitely looked lived-in. The bed was made but slightly rumpled, with Chloe the purple pygmy puff curled up on one pillow, humming soft snores.  
  
“Oh, geez,” he heard Maggie murmur, and she gave her wand a flick. He looked at the dresser just in time to see a bit of periwinkle lace slide out of sight into an open drawer, which quickly slammed shut.  
  
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I didn’t really prepare for company.”

“No worries,” he said, smiling and trying not to think about what sort of lacy garment that had been, or what that particular shade of blue would look like against her skin. He cleared his throat. “The rooms here are nice. I’ve never been upstairs before.”

“I suspect some are nicer than others, based on the prices,” she replied, walking over to a battered-looking khaki colored backpack and rummaging inside. She pulled out a large, brown canvas-bound book and a handful of loose pieces of parchment. “This one was middle of the range, but I’m pretty sure I saw a clawfoot tub in one of the rooms when I was lugging my things up.”

“That’s downright _posh_ for this place.”

She nodded as she set the pile of paperwork onto the table, then hopped up into the empty chair, seating herself comfortably with her legs curled up under her. There was a knock at the door, and a muffled voice said, _“Room service!”_

“Come in!” Maggie called.

Tom the barman entered the room, carrying a tray with their drinks on it. He set them on the table, giving Charlie another meaningful look as he did. Maggie begrudgingly handed him a Sickle and thanked him in a somewhat cold voice as he left.

Charlie cleared his throat as the latch on the door clicked shut and Maggie waved her wand, turning the lock.  
  
_“Anyway…”_ he said, giving her a small smile. The word hung in the air for a long, quiet moment as Maggie sipped her drink. He drummed his fingers nervously. “So, you, er… wanted to show me your work?”

“Mmm, yes!” said Maggie, nodding excitedly as she set the glass down on the table. “Most of it is in my notebook, but sometimes I have a brainwave and I just jot it down on whatever’s handy, so it’s kind of unorganized. Story of my life.”

She picked up the notebook and thumbed through the pages.

“How did you come up with this theory, anyway?” asked Charlie.  
  
“Well,” said Maggie, “I’ve been around winged horses a lot, as I said, with my aunt breeding them, so I’ve seen all the breeds up close. Well, I hadn’t seen _all_ of them when I started school, but as soon as we were allowed to take classes on magical creatures and I got the chance to see Thestrals in person, I just _knew_ there was something different about them. I mean, there are obvious differences, of course, like not being able to see them unless you’ve witnessed death, and the fondness for raw flesh. But I mean in their physiology, too. They were just so… _reptilian_.”  
  
She stood and walked around to his side of the little table, flipped open the book, and set it in front of him.

“These are sketches I did, based on skull specimens I acquired through the _Bestas Mágicas_ professor at Castelobruxo.” 

_Of course,_ he thought to himself as he registered the unfamiliar words,  _they'd have spoken Portuguese at her school._

She was leaning over him now, pointing to the skulls as she spoke. He could smell her again, but this time it wasn’t perfume, it was just… _her_ , mixed with the bright, crisp smell of soap, and whiffs of brandy on her breath. He looked down at the paper, willing himself to pay attention to that instead.

“This one is an Aethonan,” she said, pointing at the drawings. “It’s the most common breed of winged horse, so it was the easiest to come by. This one is a dragon, of course. A Hebridean Black, though you probably could have told me that. And in the middle is the Thestral. When you look at their anatomy on an osteological level, they’re actually much more similar to dragons. Compared to the Aethonan, the zygomatic ridge here is much more pronounced, and they have a much larger occipital crest. And then, of course, there’s the fangs and the horns.”

Now Charlie really _was_ paying rapt attention, studying the three skulls. She was absolutely right. 

“There’s even a small chamber behind the nasal cavities in Thestral skulls. It’s empty because it’s useless now, but if my theory is correct, I think it used to house—“

“Incendiary glands,” Charlie said, turning around to look at her. “The glands dragons use to create fire!”

“Exactly,” said Maggie, flipping a page to show a complicated diagram linking the animals, “I think what we’re looking at is a convergent evolution, where Thestrals evolved either from dragons themselves or from a common ancestor _with_ dragons, and later down the line you get winged horses evolving separately, or maybe even being bred from Thestrals with non-magical horses to the point that they lost all their dragon-like characteristics.”

“Maggie,” said Charlie, looking impressed, “I think you might be a genius.”  
  
She laughed, straightening up again and walking back to her chair.

 _“Hardly._ Someone else would have figured it out ages ago, if they’d thought to look.”  
  
“Why hasn’t anyone?”

“Because nobody _cares_ ,” she said, sitting heavily, shoulders slumped. “People have so many misconceptions and superstitions about Thestrals. A lot of folks still think they’re death omens. Nobody gives a fig where Thestrals came from, so long as they’re not flying over _their_ house. Do you know how hard it is to get grant money to study them? I’m only here because I paid for the travel expenses myself and Mr. Hagrid convinced the board at Hogwarts to let me stay at the castle while I’m studying there.”

“You really do love them, don’t you?” asked Charlie, smiling sympathetically. He knew all too well what it was like to be consumed by a line of work nobody else seemed to think was worth their attention.

“I do,” she said proudly. “They’re gentle and smart, and beautiful in their own way. Thestrals don’t deserve the reputation they’ve got. They’re seriously misunderstood creatures.”

Charlie snorted at this, and Maggie looked somewhat affronted.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing!” Charlie said quickly, laughing a little and waving his hands, “I agree with you. It’s just… you and Hagrid are going to get along really well, I think.”

He smiled at her, the freckled skin around his eyes crinkling.

“I hope so,” she replied, chewing on her lip. 

“I know so.”

“I’m just so nervous, Charlie. He’s been so kind to let me come work with him. I just hope I don’t mess anything up.”

“Do you want to hear a story?” asked Charlie, crossing one ankle over his knee. He took a sip of his beer and grinned at her.

“Sure.”

“When my youngest brother Ron was at Hogwarts—in his first year, if I remember correctly—Hagrid was still just gamekeeper, he hadn’t taken on the Care of Magical Creatures post just yet. And he got it in his head that he’d like to have a dragon.”

“Like… as a _pet?”_ asked Maggie, looking amused.

“Yes. As a _pet_. He actually acquired a Norwegian Ridgeback egg through… _questionable_ connections. And of course, within a week of the egg hatching, it was practically the size of a horse and about to burn his house down.”  
  
“Naturally. What happened?”

“Well, Ron sent me an owl and asked if I could help. I agreed to send some friends from WONDR to the castle in the middle of the night to smuggle the dragon out. _Harry Potter_ _himself_ and Ron’s wife, Hermione, had to sneak a baby Ridgeback up to the astronomy tower under an invisibility cloak so we could take it away.”

Maggie had a hand over her mouth now.

“Oh my gosh! Did it work?”

“Well, they got caught. Harry and Hermione, that is. The dragon had already been taken away, though, so it looked like they’d just been sneaking around after lights-out. They got detention, of course. But the dragon made it safely to us and we got her ready to be released into the wild.”

“What a mess!”

“Indeed. So my point is, no matter what ends up happening at Hogwarts this semester, unless you end up having to smuggle an illegal dragon out of the castle, it could probably be worse. You’ll never out-Hagrid Hagrid himself.”

Maggie laughed.

“Well, that _does_ put my mind at ease a little bit.”

Charlie smiled at her, swishing his beer around in its pint glass.

“Good.”

She cocked her head to one side, studying him.

“Hey," she said, "you cut your hair.”

“Oh, yeah,” he answered, running a hand over it. “I had my mum clean it up a little. I was feeling a tad self-conscious, to be honest. You looked so nice the other day, and I walked in looking like an old sheepdog.”

She laughed at this.

“You did _not_ ,” she assured him. “I like it, though.”

“Thanks.”  
  
He could feel his cheeks reddening again. He took another drink. It was quiet for a moment.

_Say something,_ he thought to himself. He wondered if these pauses made her feel as awkward as he did.

“Are you hungry at all?” she asked before he could think of anything interesting to say.

“I could eat,” he replied. He looked out her window to see fat drops of water trailing in little rivulets down the glass. “It’s still raining, though.”

“Oh, I have some stuff up here,” she explained, getting out of her chair and walking to the bureau. She took down a small box from on top of it and turned around. “Brazillian chocolates, and some fruit. Have you ever had guava?”

“I can’t say that I have,” he said. “What’s it like?”

“It’s like guava,” she replied with a smile. “Hard to describe, and unique. But delicious.”

She set the box down and took out a bar of chocolate. The label was in Portuguese.

“Here, unwrap this and break off a piece for yourself.”

He did so, peeling back the brightly colored paper wrapper and the gold foil underneath and snapping off a rectangle. He popped it into his mouth. It tasted like dark chocolate, familiar and slightly bitter. And then… there was something else. Something _hot_.

“Is there chili pepper in this?” he asked, looking surprised. He could feel the heat building in his mouth, spreading across his tongue and burning his throat a little. It wasn’t unpleasant if you liked spicy things, and he did.

She grinned, placing a small green fruit on the table.

“Yep! BomDoce’s _Fogo Cacau_. It means ‘Fire Chocolate.’ Made with the finest Brazilian Pitanga chilis.”

“It’s good,” he said, nodding. “Unexpected. But good.”

She waved her wand and the little guava split itself into eight perfect wedges.

“Here, this will cool off your mouth,” she told him, handing him a slice of the fleshy pink fruit. He took a bite and furrowed his brow.

“You’re right,” he said, chewing, “this _is_ hard to describe. It’s sweet, but it has a musky sort of flavor I haven’t ever had before.”

“Do you like it?” she asked, taking a piece of the fruit for herself.

“I do,” he said, nodding. “It’s different. But it’s nice.”

She settled back into her chair, chewing, eyes closed. He watched her enjoying the guava, a small taste of home.

“So tell me about your family,” he said. “What are they like?”

“Well,” she said once she’d swallowed her bite of fruit, “My dad is an ambassador for MACUSA, like I mentioned. It’s pretty tedious, from a kid’s perspective. Lots of meetings, fancy dinners, and attending dull diplomatic events that go on for hours.”  
  
“Does the British Ministry have an ambassador there, as well?”

“Yeah, of course,” she said. She laid a finger across her upper lip like a mustache and adopted a Northumberland accent. “Cyril P. Cavendish, the most pompous wizard you’ll ever meet."

Charlie snorted into his beer.

"He _is,_ though!" she insisted, returning to her normal voice. "We had him over for dinner once and it was  _awful_. He just sat there and told self-congratulatory stories about his many accomplishments and accolades all night. He was so boring, even my pet Jarvey fell asleep.”

“What about your mum?” he asked, chuckling.

“My mom’s an _Ordinário_.”

“A what?”

“You know, a No-Maj. Or I guess the word here is ‘Muggle.’”

“Really?” Charlie asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yep. They met on the subway in Boston. Dad was late for some meeting or other, and she had to help him figure out which stop he was supposed to get off on.”

“Oh, man. My dad would _love_ to pick your brain,” he said, grinning. “He’s _obsessed_ with Muggles. Collects plugs.”

_“Plugs?"_ Maggie repeated. "What a bizarre thing to decide to collect."

“He’s kind of a weird bloke,” admitted Charlie, shrugging. “Works in the ministry as Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. If he ever raided his own shed, he’d be in trouble.”

Maggie laughed at this.

“What does your mum do in the Muggle world?”

“She’s an evolutionary biologist.”

“Ah,” Charlie replied, nodding. “It all makes sense now.”

“She’s actually been helping me with fleshing out my theory a bit." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But don’t let that get out.”

Charlie made a criss-cross motion over his chest.

“Cross my heart.” He watched Maggie nibble on a bite of chocolate. “What about your sister that you mentioned back at the shop?”

Maggie rolled her eyes.

“Prissy, or _Priscilla,_ as she now insists on being called, is my older sister. She’s a homemaker, married a rich Brazilian wizard named Aleixo. His family is old money, Purebloods. Overall decent people, but a bit stuck up, if you ask me. My nephew Manoel is their only child. He’s the spitting image of his father, but somehow neither he nor my sister managed to pass on their stick-in-the-mud genes. Manny is a pretty cool kid. He’s taken over for me in the Annoying Priscilla department.”

“Hence the fireworks?”

“Hence the fireworks," she replied, an impish grin on her lips .

“Any other brothers or sisters?” asked Charlie.

“Nope, just Priss.”

“Wow. Only one sibling?”

“Yeah,” said Maggie, shrugging. “Why, how many have you got?”

_“Six,”_ he said, then paused. “Well... five now, I guess.”

“Fred’s still your brother, even if he’s gone,” she said gently.

“Yeah. You’re right. It just still seems so surreal, even after all this time.”

“I can’t imagine,” Maggie answered, shaking her head. “Prissy’s a pain in the ass, but I’d still be devastated if anything happened to her.”  


“Why’s she such a burr in your side?” he asked, leaning an elbow on the armrest of the chair and resting his stubbled chin on his fist.

“Oh, she’s just so… _perfect_. Did aces in school, she was a Prefect and then Head Girl.” Maggie rolled her eyes again. 

“Oh, being a Prefect isn’t _that_ bad, is it?” asked Charlie, smirking. He gave her a significant look, and her mouth fell open in surprise.

“Oh no. You _weren’t?”_

“I _was,”_ he said, nodding, clearly amused as she put her head into her palm in embarrassment. “Never made _Head Boy_ , though, so it could be worse, I suppose.”

“Well, you weren’t _half_ as insufferable as she was, I can promise you _that_ ,” she replied. “Anyway, then she graduated and went off and married this rich, handsome wizard from a famous Brazilian family and had an adorable little baby while I was off in a Thestral pen somewhere, shoveling dung and making detailed drawings of wing variations. She's always gone above and beyond all expectations, while I just seem to fall pitifully short all the time.” She gave a brief pause before adding, “And she’s blonde, and five foot ten, and about as big around as my pinky.”

She took a long drink.  


“Above and beyond _other_ people’s expectations,” Charlie, corrected her. “What about _yours?_ Those are the ones that matter.”

Maggie looked unconvinced.

“As to her looks, well,” he said, shrugging, “not _everyone_ prefers tall, thin blondes.”

She made a “Hmmpf,” sort of sound and rolled her eyes yet again. Charlie stood up and crossed over to her chair, holding out his hand.

“What?” she asked, looking up. He waved his hand at her, inviting her to take it. She set her glass down and obliged, and he pulled her up off the chair.

“Personally,” he told her, tucking a wave of brunette hair behind her ear, “I prefer short, smart, and _beautiful.”_

His heart was pounding again, so hard he thought she must be able to feel it through his fingertips.

“Uh huh. When did you suddenly get so smooth?” she asked, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a grin.

“Oh, I’m not,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly. “I feel _way_ less confident than I sound right now. But I ordered a strong beer and it seems to have done its job.”

Her smile widened as she looked up at him.

_ Kiss her,  _ a voice inside him whispered.

“They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing,” she said. She had maneuvered her hand in his so that their fingers were intertwined now.

_ Kiss her. _

Her sweater had shifted a little on her shoulder, and he could see the sun-freckled skin of her collarbone peeking out from underneath the thick knit fabric. He felt something stir in his belly.

**_ Kiss. Her. _ **

They seemed to have had the same impulse at the same time, her stretching up on tiptoe and him leaning down so that their lips pressed together, softly and gently at first, then growing more insistent. He moved his other hand to her neck, cradling the back of her head as he parted his lips. She tasted like brandy and chocolate and fiery-hot chili peppers, and—

“Wait.”

She had pulled away, looking down and avoiding his eye.

_Great._ He’d somehow managed to muck it up on the very first kiss.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, a queasy feeling taking over his stomach now instead.

“No,” she said, looking up. She shook her head. “No, not at all. I just… is this a good idea?”

“I thought it was a _great_ idea,” he said, managing a weak smile. She gave a little laugh.

“No, I mean… the kiss _was_ great. I just don’t know if it’s advisable.”

“Why not?” asked Charlie, looking confused.

“I _like_ you, Charlie,” she told him, looking down at their interlocked fingers. “A _lot_.”

“I like you, too,” he said, shrugging. “So what’s the problem?”

“I just don’t want to get too attached.”

Charlie frowned.

“Okay…?” he said, trailing off, feeling anything but okay.

“Look,” she said, “in a few days, I’ll be heading off to Scotland for four months, and you’ll be making your way back to Romania. And after that, who knows?”

“Exactly,” said Charlie. _“Who knows?”_

“I just don’t want to go too far and then get hurt, that’s all.”

“I understand,” he said. “I do. It’s hard to build on anything from that kind of a distance. The bigger the expectations, the worse it'll feel if it doesn't work out.”

She nodded and breathed a heavy sigh through her nostrils.

“How about this?” he suggested, squeezing her hand. “Let’s just relax and enjoy each other’s company tonight. No pressure. And when you go to Hogwarts and I go back to Romania, we’ll write one another, and we’ll just see what happens. Maybe I can even come visit once or twice. But let’s not write off something that could turn out to be really good just because we won’t be in the same place for awhile.”

She took a deep breath.

“Okay,” she said, nodding again. “Okay. That’s a good plan... I can work with that.”

“Good,” he said, giving her hand another squeeze. There was a pause. “Hey, you want to hear some thrilling tales about dragons?”

“Maybe in a minute,” she said, giving him a flirtatious grin. “I could go for another kiss first.”

“Only if you don’t mind snogging a _Prefect_ ,” Charlie said, leaning dramatically on the word. _"Ugh_."  
  
She laughed.

“I’ll try to look past it,” she said, and he leaned down, embracing her with both arms as their lips met again.


	5. Farewells

Charlie had forgotten just how loud and hectic Platform 9 3/4 always was on the first of September. Parents stood at intervals along the walkway, checking and double-checking supply lists, straightening robes, and reassuring nervous-looking first years. The older students wandered the platform, shouting and waving as they sought out their friends.

_Was I ever really that young?_ he thought to himself as he passed a group of teenage boys. They erupted into laughter as one of them flicked a wand, which promptly turned into a rubber haddock. He chuckled, recognizing it as a Weasley product and imagining how proud Fred would have been to see his inventions sneaking their way onto the school train. He wondered how many Skiving Snackboxes were hiding in the trunks and schoolbags he was walking past this very minute.

Puffs of steam hissed from the Hogwarts Express as Charlie wove through the milling throng, scanning the crowd. He was almost halfway down the train when he spotted her, leaning against the wall and observing as the families prepared for their children’s departure. He put two fingers into his mouth and blew a whistle, a trick he had picked up from his mother. Maggie looked up, as did about a dozen other people—many of whom were students who looked like they half expected it to be a parent admonishing them for something or other.

Her face brightened as she waved at him, watching as he made his way through the droves to her.

“Hey,” she said, beaming at him as he leaned over to brush a soft kiss against her cheek.

“Hi,” he said, smiling back. “Where’s all your stuff?”

“Oh, I already stashed it in a compartment. Figured I’d get myself a seat before all the students swarmed.”

“Wise,” said Charlie, nodding. “Gosh, it’s surreal to be here as an adult.”

“I know what you mean,” she agreed. “I was just thinking about my first day at Castelobruxo. I was so scared. Of _what_ , I’m not certain. Other than not being as good at everything as Priss.”

“I was _terrified_ I wouldn’t get into Gryffindor, like my parents and my older brother, Bill,” said Charlie, a faraway look in his eye. “And that a werewolf would eat me in my sleep, because Bill had told me the Forbidden Forest was crawling with them.”

He paused, considering the irony in this.

“Was it?” she asked, looking slightly paler.

“No,” he answered reassuringly. “And anyway, not all werewolves are as bad as they say. I knew an amazing man who happened to be a werewolf. He died in the Battle of Hogwarts, fighting for our side. He and his wife. Their son, Teddy, is at Hogwarts now, in his third year. His grandmother is raising him.”

“Oh, gosh," Maggie said solemnly. "What a hard thing for a kid to go through."

Then, quite suddenly, she jumped in surprise as a black cat darted by, yowling and puffing up its tail as a young blonde girl chased after it.

“Come back, Pixie!” called the girl, sniffling back tears as she stumbled, trying to keep up.

Maggie drew out her wand, calling out, _“Accio_ _cat!”_

The cat was lifted off its feet, legs still moving pointlessly in the air, and it zoomed into Maggie’s arms with a rather bewildered expression on its furry face. The girl turned and rushed over to Maggie, holding out her hands.

“Oh my goodness, thank you!” she said, breathlessly. “She always _hates_ coming here, it’s all the hissing from the engine. I think she thinks it’s a big, angry cat!”  
  
Maggie handed the girl her pet. It lost no time in trying to scramble right back out of her arms again.

“Would you like me to use a special charm on her, to calm her?” asked Maggie, bending down a little. “It won’t hurt her, it’ll just make her relax a little until you get to the school.”

“Oh, yes, _please,”_ said the girl, sounding exasperated as she fought to keep hold of the squirming animal.

Maggie reached out with a gentle hand and stroked the cat’s head as she gave her wand a slow wave and murmured _“Serenus.”_  Almost instantly, the cat stopped struggling and snuggled quite contentedly against the little girl’s chest, purring.

“Thank you so much, miss!” the girl said, relief etched on her flushed face. She turned and hustled off to find her family again.

“Quick thinking,” Charlie said. “Well done.”

“It’s a simple charm,” Maggie said with a shrug. “I use it on skittish Thestrals all the time.”

“I’ll have to remember it the next time I’m dealing with a particularly cantankerous dragon.”

Maggie snorted.

“Good luck,” she said, grinning.

There was a pause.

“Hey,” said Charlie, quieter and looking a bit more serious. He took her hand. “I’m going to miss you.”

He saw her swallow hard.

“I’ll miss you too,” she said, her voice sounding thicker.

“I’m going to write you,” he assured her. "And I’m going to try to come back again this semester, at least once. You’ll get weekends off, so maybe I can come stay in Hogsmeade and meet you there.”  
  
She nodded.

“I’d like that.”

“And I want to hear all about the Thestrals, and what sort of ludicrously dangerous animal Hagrid is trying to smuggle onto school grounds these days.”

She nodded again, grinning through a trembling lip.

The steam engine's whistle gave a short blast, making her jump again. They both turned to look at the train, which was now producing steam in a large billowing column from its funnel.

“That’s the boarding signal,” Charlie said. “Five minutes until the Express pulls out. I’d better go find my family and wish my niece luck.”

Maggie quickly wiped a little tear that had managed to escape the corner of her eye.

“How can I be so sad about leaving someone I only met a week ago?” she asked, shaking her head a little. “It seems silly.”

He opened his arms and invited her into them, wrapping her in a tight hug.

“It’s not silly,” he said, the stubble of his jaw scratching against her cheek as he spoke. “I’m sad, too.”

He pulled away, looking into her eyes again, memorizing her face.

“You’re going to do great,” he told her. “And I promise, I’ll find a way to come visit you.”

“Okay,” she said, trying her best to smile. “You have a safe journey back to Romania. And please be careful. If you get eaten by a dragon before I see you again, I’ll _never_ forgive you.”

He laughed at this, then bent down and pressed his lips to hers, pulling her into a brief but sincere kiss. As they pulled apart, he planted another small, sweet peck on her nose.

“See you soon, Maggie.”

“Goodbye, Charlie.”

He gave her hand one last squeeze and then willed himself to walk away, looking back over his shoulder as she disappeared behind the crowd. As he turned to face forward again, he blinked his eyes a few times and sniffled quietly, glad she could no longer see him. Looking ahead, he spotted a large group comprised mostly of redheaded, heavily freckled people, and he jogged toward his family.

They had all crowded around his oldest niece, Victoire, who was bidding everyone farewell.

“Uncle Charlie!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up as she saw him. “You disappeared! I thought you were going to miss it.”

“Not a chance!” he told her, bending down to give her a hug. “I just had to go say goodbye to a friend.”

“Is that why you look sad?” she whispered into his ear.

“Yeah,” he told her quietly, “but don’t you worry about me. You just make sure you have the best year ever, okay?” She nodded as he straightened up, giving one of her blonde pigtails a gentle tug. “And don’t you go easy on those boys, either.”

“Like you need to worry about _that_ ,” said Charlie’s youngest brother, Ron. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was Hermione’s.” 

Molly looked off in Maggie’s direction.

“Is that her?” she asked. Through the steam, they could just make out her figure climbing into a train car.

Charlie nodded, running a hand over the back of his neck. “That's Maggie.”

“She _is_ very pretty,” she said, looking approvingly at Charlie. Then she added more softly, “Are you alright, dear?”

“I’m fine,” Charlie lied, shrugging and hoping his nonchalant facade looked convincing enough. “Let’s give Victoire a proper Weasley sendoff, shall we?”

When the platform was finally clear of students, the families all stood back from the tracks as the steam engine whistled again. It chuffed loudly, and the wheels slowly started to move as the train pulled out of the station. They caught sight of Victoire, her face peering out at them alongside another young girl, both of them waving and shouting excited farewells out of the open window.

Charlie kept scanning the compartments, looking for Maggie. She must have been seated on the other side of the train, because he didn’t see her as the cars rolled by at ever-increasing speeds. Finally, the last car passed by, and they watched until it was out of sight.

_It’s better this way, you don’t want to cry in front of everyone._

Still, he’d have liked one more glimpse of her. 

As they made their way out of Kings Cross Station, a light shower began to fall. The rest of his family groaned about the weather, but Charlie smiled to himself, thinking about the sound of rain pattering against the windows of the little upstairs room at the Leaky Cauldron. He wondered if she was conjuring up the same memories as the train raced through the English countryside.

“Mate, you okay?”

George’s voice jarred him out of his thoughts. He looked at his younger brother, who had hung back a few steps to match pace with Charlie. His voice was uncharacteristically earnest.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m just, you know…” 

He trailed off, unsure how to end the thought. George clapped a hand around his shoulders.

“Yeah, I think I _do_ know. I’ve never seen you look at anybody the way you look at her.”

“I really should be thanking you,” Charlie said, giving George a grin.

“What for?”

“Making me watch the shop while you counted Dungbombs or whatever it was.”

George laughed.

“Well, you can give me proper credit for leading you down the path to love when you make me Best Man at your wedding.”

Charlie shoved him playfully.

“You’d be lucky to get an _invite,”_ he said, rolling his eyes.

“Git.”

“Prat.”

“Mum, Charlie pushed me!”

“I’m sure you did something to earn it,” Molly called over her shoulder. “Tell him to give you another for good measure.”

Everyone got a good laugh out of this, and Charlie felt his spirits lifted a little as he walked along with the rest of the Weasley family toward the Portkey that would take them all back to the Burrow for lunch. 

It would be a few hours before he would have to start packing again. Tomorrow he’d make his way back to Romania, back to his tent in the woods. Back to his dragons. He tucked his hands into his pockets as he strolled, and his fingers brushed against something. Frowning, he pulled it out. 

He recognized the gold wrapper immediately. It was the last couple of pieces of the bar of  _Fogo Cacau_ they had shared at the Leaky Cauldron. When had she managed to slip that in?

_ What a sneak. _

He smiled as he put it back. He wouldn’t eat it, he decided. Not now anyway. He’d save it for a night when he was missing her fiercely. He’d pop it into his mouth and let the heat warm him and make his mouth tingle.

It wouldn’t be a very good replacement, but for now, it would have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maggie and Charlie's story will continue soon!


End file.
